The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)

by Jennifer Blackwood

  Bruce whimpered softly and brushed against my leg, looking up at me with those big black eyes.

  Right then, I knew in my heart it was a mistake coming to Washington, being this far away from Mom. Money meant crap if she didn’t make it past chemo. I hung up and squinted my eyes shut, the air magically vanishing from my lungs. My legs buckled and I fell to my knees in the middle of the park walkway as tears began to stream down my face. I tried to calm my breathing, acutely aware that I was in public and people were probably starting to stare. Bruce licked my cheek, and I hugged his neck, crying into his fur. He put his paw on my arm and I got the distinct sense that he was trying to protect me.

  Breathe. You can’t give up or else she gives up.

  I gave myself a few more moments to compose myself, wiping at my eyes, and then straightened. This was not the Lainey Taylor I’d worked so hard to become. Crying didn’t solve things, and if I was anything, I was a fixer. So I’d suck it up and do the right thing, because I was not losing her. I couldn’t. She was my best friend. Life without her wouldn’t be living.

  I wiped the tears from my cheeks and looked down at Bruce’s sad face. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

  He wagged his tail and gave a toot toot toot of flatulent reassurance.

  I rolled my eyes and tugged at his leash. “You’re still gross.”

  By the time I got back to Brogan’s apartment, I was in no mood to deal with Bruce’s antics. If he so much as looked at my jacket or shoes the wrong way, I was just going to dump the wet food on the floor and book it out of there.

  I fished Brogan’s key out of the jacket pocket and looked down at the dog, who, for the first time in our interactions, looked down in the dumps. I squatted down to his level and gave his thick head a scratch. “Don’t you know, Bruce? Ladies like men with a proper drool to butt sniffing ratio. You’re not going to have any luck with them at the rate you’re going.”

  I stood, still feeling the weight of the day heavy in my shoulders, and turned the key. Pushing the door closed with my foot, I unhooked Bruce and placed the leash on the counter. I leaned against the granite and pulled out my phone once again to see if my mom had changed her mind and wanted me to come down to Portland tonight. When the screen lit up, I frowned, my phone empty of messages.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” a loud, very unhappy Brogan Starr bellowed from across the room.

  Chapter Ten

  Lainey Taylor Rule of Life #63

  Never invite yourself to a Netflix pity party

  My head snapped up and my phone clattered to the ground. Brogan stood in the middle of his condo, wrapped in a towel. Hung very low. Droplets of water beaded down his chest, rolling over the taught muscles.

  The towel lay flush against his body, outlining a bulge. On a scale of aww…how cute to there’s no way that’s fitting, it was the Goldilocks of bulges. Just right.

  I swallowed hard and realized a few seconds too late that I was staring at his lower half and the trail of hair leading to parts hidden by the towel. What was with me and thinking about his damn dick? It had been a while since I’d seen any action with a real-life one, but this was getting ridiculous. A silicone one did the same thing and didn’t come attached to a person who decided my financial fate. Okay, this really wasn’t the appropriate time to debate the pros and cons of dildos versus my boss’s dick, standing in his kitchen while he was half naked. And I was still staring.

  My head shot up, and I met his eyes. “You’re home.” Real smooth there, slick.

  “And you’re as observant as ever,” he said drily. “That doesn’t answer my question, though. What are you doing in my house?”

  He wasn’t supposed to be home. I’d checked the schedule—he had a phone conference with Japan until nine tonight. Shit, was I going to lose my job because of this?

  All that came to mind was durrrrrr—I’d been hypnotized into a state of Brogan Starr Bulge Mind Melt. (It’s totally a thing, okay?) Yeah, because that response would go over well. Once I gained the use of my voice, I said, “Jackson sent me to take Bruce on a walk.” I left out the part where I’d been doing this for the better part of two weeks.

  His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t supposed to be here. Only Jackson is allowed in my apartment.”

  “I’m so sorry. Jackson was…” Think. Even though I disliked Jackson, I’d never put his job in the crosshairs intentionally. Though I could safely bet the feeling wasn’t reciprocal. “Sick.”

  The weight of everything that had happened in the last hour slammed into me like a semi truck. Seriously, did all this shit have to happen today? I wasn’t one to be a woe-is-me girl, but really, when all roads pointed to Rome, well, it was happening.

  He raised a brow, and his mouth worked. I knew this was it, he was about to fire my ass for something Jackson made me do. And then I wouldn’t be able to pay any flippin’ healthcare bills. And if I couldn’t pay bills, then would my mom receive treatment? My pulse throbbed in my temples, and I couldn’t tamp down the temper bubbling to the surface. A girl could only have so much shit flung on her Jimmy Choos before she went into rage mode.

  His voice was cool and matter-of-fact as he said, “I don’t care if Jackson promises you the damn Taj Mahal. I don’t want you in my apartment. This is my personal space. Bruce only responds well to people he knows. To trustworthy people.” This was the first time I’d seen him be uncharacteristically uncharismatic.

  Hell. No. What a condescending prick. Screw this totally hot man standing painfully naked in front of me. Screw the fact that he insinuated I wasn’t trustworthy enough for his damn dog. Heat pooled at the base of my neck, and I narrowed my eyes. “You know what? I have bigger things to focus on than your damn rules. I mean, who the hell cares if there’s a semi-colon in a tweet? Nobody! Or how about the whole leggings aren’t pants thing dress code, because I have a pair in my closet that begs to differ.” I threw my hands in the air. Who did he think he was trying to make everyone abide by his stupid manual that made zero sense? “And you’re welcome for walking your slobbering mutt in freezing weather while he pisses on my shoes, and tries to hump a poodle that’s way out of his league.”

  He took a step back, his annoyance quickly morphing into shock. “Excuse me?”

  I took a step toward him, not backing down from what I’d started. If I was going to get fired, dammit, I was going to lay it all out on the table because tonight I really gave zero shits about Brogan and this stupid job two hundred miles away from the person who needed me most.

  “You heard me. I’ve been dealing with my mom who has cancer and who’s dy—” I paused to collect myself, my throat tight. “Bills keep piling up, collectors keep calling. The last thing I need is for you to treat me like I’m some asshole.” My breaths came out in heavy pants, but I kept going. “I walk your damn dog for you. One who uses my sweaters as kibble, because the small horse probably isn’t getting enough food. Seriously, you need to feed him more, because he can’t survive on my cashmere sweaters.”

  Brogan went to speak, and I put a finger up, signaling I wasn’t quite done giving him a piece of my mind.

  “And another thing. The garlic rule is totally stupid. Everyone knows Luigi’s is the best place to eat, and your office rule is a total buzz kill. On a side note, it is really hard to rant when you’re standing there in a towel.” I’d at least managed to keep my gaze from meandering below chest-level. Okay, maybe my eyes wandered a couple times, but that just proved my herculean restraint, because it could have been much worse.

  He blinked hard, and the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Are you done?”

  I crossed my arms and looked down at Bruce, who was wagging his tail, looking from me to Brogan. Damn dog. “Yes.”

  His gaze softened. “Sit down.” The two words were quiet, but still held the authority of a man who ran a Fortune 500 company.

  I shifted my eyes to his, not understanding. Surely he should have called security by now, or
at the very least had Bruce chase me out the door. “What?”

  “I said sit down.” He pointed to the leather sofa in the living room.

  I was still fuming and feeling a bit sassy, heavy on the assy, when I said, “You know, for a boss, you’re awfully bossy.”

  He shot me a look. “I’m going to let that slide because you’re having a shitty day.” As he led me to the living room, he motioned for me to sit on the sofa. “Do you like tea?”

  “Coffee.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  I sat there alone in the living room, staring at the mantle. There were no pictures hung, just abstract art. A fire crackled in the hearth, and Bruce snuggled next to the heat, belly up on the white shag rug. I shifted on the sofa, feeling suddenly self-conscious that I’d just told my boss off while he was half-naked, and he hadn’t kicked me out.

  He came back a few minutes later, fully clothed in a black T-shirt and gray sweats, carrying two steaming mugs and handing me one.

  “Thank you.” I cleared the last bit of sniffles out of my nose and cupped the coffee with both hands.

  Brogan cleared his throat and shifted restlessly on the couch. “I’m sorry to hear about your mom.”

  I frowned, staring into the coffee. “Me, too. She’s my best friend.” I blinked back a few rogue tears that were trying their best to escape. What would I do if she didn’t make it through? I’d have Zoey, but my father was living his own life now, and my grandparents were long passed. I’d be a twenty-four-year-old orphan. Did that even count if you were past eighteen? “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  He cut his eyes to me and said, “I hope it doesn’t come to that, but if it did, you’d be fine.” A small, comforting smile formed at the edge of his lips, and without the expensive business suits and corporate environment, he seemed so much younger than his work persona. His gaze softened, and for the first time since I’d met him, Brogan didn’t look like he minded being in the same room as me.

  I smoothed my thumb over the rim of the coffee mug, wisps of steam curling into the air. How could he be so sure when I felt like the life I’d built was being ripped out like the pages of a story. “How do you know that? You don’t even know me.”

  He placed his mug down on the coffee table and turned to me, his expression serious.

  “Because if you were the type to give up, you wouldn’t come to work for me, and you certainly wouldn’t put up with a bunch of rules.” He used air quotes for emphasis.

  Damn me putting my foot in my mouth. I really had no self-preservation whatsoever when it came to keeping this job. “That came out a little harsh, didn’t it?”

  He smiled. “Yeah, but I understand. I know it’s not easy on a lot of people, but it’s how Starr Media runs.”

  “Then why do you put all these ridiculous rules into effect?”

  He let out a heavy sigh, and for a split second I could feel the weight of Brogan’s world heavy in my chest. The hundreds of calls every day. The thousands of questions. I loved working at a big corporation, but I would never want to run one. “Because if I didn’t, I leave myself open to the possibility of hurting my company. Starr Media means everything to me, and I’d never do anything to risk that.”

  I tilted my head and did my best to hold back the sarcasm in my question. “How is a garlic breadstick going to hurt Starr Media?”

  “You obviously haven’t been on the receiving end of a garlic-eating mouth-breather client.”

  I blanched. “Can’t say I have.”

  He leaned back and spread his arms across the top of the couch, making himself comfortable. “I used to play racquetball with a client who would eat Italian before playing, and he’d literally sweat garlic.” He shuddered.

  “Gotcha. Personal vendetta against Italian.”

  “My cross to bear. Although, I really do love Italian food. Just not on other people.”

  I decided not to share that I knew this little tidbit from my perusal of his fridge the other week.

  “Nice to know you get out of the office at some point. It’s good to get exercise and fresh air.”

  “I usually run along the waterfront. Racquetball is only for clients.”

  “Me, too. Funny we haven’t run into each other.” Besides the bush-hiding incident that I’d take to my grave.

  “You mean besides that one time a few weeks ago?” His voice held a playfulness that I’d never heard in the office. Brogan was always congenial and charismatic at work, but this felt different, slightly more intimate. “Or was I not supposed to bring that one up?” He winked.

  My jaw dropped. Was there anything this guy didn’t know? I swore I’d hidden before he even had the chance to notice I was in the vicinity. “How did you—”

  “Can’t say many people jump into bushes when they see me coming. Or have leaves in their hair when they come to work. You leave quite a lasting impression, Taylor, I’ll give you that.”

  Heat trickled to my neck and cheeks, and if the sofa happened to swallow me up, I’d be thankful right about now. “Yeah, I don’t even want to try to explain that one.”

  He nodded and a smile played at his lips, but after a few moments his expression turned serious. “All joking aside, this company is my life, and the first few years are always the toughest with any business. I know these rules may seem a little”—he searched for the right word—“tough, but I have to do whatever it takes.”

  “But you need to get out and have fun once in a while. You’ll drive yourself mad if you’re in your office twenty-four seven.”

  “Aren’t I supposed to be the one trying to make you feel better, not the other way around?”

  “Giving life advice to people older than me does the trick.” In fact, talking with Brogan, along with the cathartic rage, was a welcome distraction from worrying over my mom.

  He shook his head and smiled, probably reassessing his decision not to call security when he had the chance. “I’m supposed to take advice from someone who hangs out in bushes?”

  I swatted him in the arm and immediately retracted my hand. Smacking my boss probably wasn’t the smartest route to go, especially if it was flirtatious. Crap, I wasn’t just hitting Brogan, I was hitting on him.

  “Fine.” He put his hands up in defense but still had a smile etched on his face. “What do you suggest I do?”

  “I don’t know. Go out to movies? Clubs? Do you like dancing?”

  “Negative on the dancing. My mom signed me up for ballet when I was seven, and I got kicked out when I spit in my teacher’s bun.”

  “Okay, dancing is officially crossed off the list. I’m surprised that’s not in the manual.”

  He side-eyed me. “Pushing it, Taylor.”

  I stuck out my tongue. “Pushing the limits is what I do best. It’s why you hired me.”

  He raised a brow. “Is it?”

  “Judging that I’ve made it past the one-month mark, I think so.” In fact, on Monday, it’d be two months, as long as I didn’t manage to get canned within the next few hours.

  “Yes, you have. An impressive feat. And if you really must know, I like to stay in and read. Sometimes I play online chess.”

  I cupped my hand to my ear. “Do you hear that?”

  His brows furrowed in confusion as his eyes darted around his condo. “Hear what?”

  I picked up my phone and pretended to take a call. “Hello?” I put my hand over the receiver and whispered, “It’s AARP, calling about your membership.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. The dimples made a quick appearance, and my mind fuzzed to static for a split second before hearing his question. “Okay, fine, what do you do for fun?”

  “I usually watch Netflix with my roomie, Bachelor every Monday with my mom, and I like hiking and farmer’s markets.”

  He smiled and sat back against the couch again, his arms spreading across the top and his left leg propped up on his right knee. This was the most casual I’d ever seen Brogan, and I had to admit
, the look was particularly appealing tonight.

  “What were your plans tonight, after you were done breaking into my house?”

  “I was not breaking into your house. I was taking care of your dog while you were supposed to be in a meeting. But if you must know, I was going to go home and bake.”

  His eyes darted to mine with newfound interest. “What do you like to bake?”

  “The Taylor specialty is chocolate chip cookies. My mom’s recipe is awarded the blue ribbon each year at the state fair.”

  Brogan groaned. “That sounds amazing. I haven’t had cookies in forever.”

  “What? They don’t go well with your prune juice and Tums?”

  His lips pressed into a thin line, but I could tell he was trying his best to suppress a smile. “I’m still your boss, you know.”

  “What were you planning on doing tonight, since you’ve mysteriously come home early from your meeting?”

  “Watch a movie. Maybe a documentary,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “A documentary? Oh, boss, we need to get you in the twenty-first century. Where’s the remote?”

  He handed me the remote, and I clicked into Netflix.

  “Have you seen The Breakfast Club?”

  He shook his head. “No. Does it involve bacon, because I could get behind that.”

  I looked at him with wide eyes and a serious concern that he’d grown up in some cult in the middle of nowhere. “Jesus. You’re worse off than I thought. How have you not seen this? It’s a classic.” Even though I wasn’t even born when most of the classics came out, my mom and I watched them all the time when I was younger.

  He shrugged. “Didn’t watch a lot of movies growing up.”

  “What did you do?” Movies were a quintessential part of my childhood. Each movie marked a different stage in my life. My first date watching Fast and the Furious on my Mom’s couch. Watching The Notebook after every breakup. Or kicking it old school, binging on Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and wishing I could be Sloane.